Friday, July 17, 2009

You don’t hear it, but there is a sound. It is a hard, loud plunk of something at the back of your mind, in the middle of my heart. It is quiet, but it is there. It casts its long, creepy shadows when none of us are watching, and whispers tunes in the cold night air. It is alive. It thrives – on the words we utter, on the steps we take. Up the creaky stairs. Down the noisy lanes of buses, trucks, cars and trains. Everywhere and anywhere, all at once. Once in awhile, something catches you firmly enough to leave its mark. And then you cannot part with what you knew. The things you leave behind and what you cannot forget, even with the passing of time. Blind. But ignorance cannot forever be pleaded. I hear it and it makes a noise. It crashes, and splinters into a million pieces at the bottom of the precipice. Sit. Still. For. Awhile. Piles and piles of memories, heightening to the mountaintops of lean dreams. You sing. And I pretend to believe everything. All the words meld into one. Only the moon, not a glimpse of the sun. Sons, daughters, learning from rhyme. Screaming, sculpting monuments of glass. Slipper. Slippery paths. Iron fists that thump on the tables of providence. Logic. Nonsense. You almost hear it, but then it slithers away.

Day #5 - Freestyle, because my mind is wandering and bordering on the melancholic.